Stuck Poem by Samantha Brooks

Lock, stock, my barrels still smoking.
Room filled with toxins, if which I am choking.

Pitted in a label which has been meant, Powerless turmoil, which seems heaven sent.

Laughter and insult, a constant affair.
The long road I'm traveling, that takes us nowhere.

There's hope it will, to that final put stop.Yet falling from hell, seems such a long drop.

I hear.my name, spoken.all over.
With pain I retreated I pray to crossover.

Not from life and simply to death.
But to higher places with every breath.